Familiar Ghosts
by SilentlyyScreamingg
Summary: "Two years. Two years since he'd spoken to Isaac, the boy he never could quite figure out. Not that they ever talked outside walking home together those few times. In fact, to everyone else, Stiles had no reason to be upset. Isaac was the kid who kept his head down and his mouth shut. But Stiles knew more about him than that." Slight Stiles/Isaac.


This is a story I wrote a while ago, and it was actually for a school assignment, so it's a little bit of an AU with how Isaac's mother and brother died and stuff. I thought I'd post it here just to see what people thought. Let me know if it's any good I guess.

**Familiar Ghosts**

"I'm not fascinated by people who smile all the time. What I find interesting is the way people look when they are lost in thought, when their face becomes angry or serious, when they bite their lip, the way they glance, the way they look down when they walk, when they are alone and smoking a cigarette, when they smirk, the way they half smile, the way they try and hold back tears, the way when their face says they want to say something but can't, the way they look at someone they want or love… I love the way people look when they do these things. It's… beautiful."

— Clemence Poesy

_Present_

Two years. Two years since he'd spoken to Isaac, the boy he never could quite figure out. Not that they ever talked outside walking home together those few times. In fact, to everyone else, Stiles had no reason to be upset. Isaac was the kid who kept his head down and his mouth shut. But Stiles knew more about him than that. He knew about his mom and brother. He knew enough about his father.

So when the news spread that Isaac had been shot by his own father before he had turned the gun on himself, he didn't feel like he had any right to be shocked. No, the only thing he had a right to feel was regret. Regret that he hadn't tried harder to stay a part of Isaac's life. Regret that he hadn't known better. The night his father came home from work at the police station and told him the news, all he could think was that he could have done something.

But it was too late for all of that. And the icy hands of guilt already had a firm grip on him.

_Two years ago_

At the start of his sophomore year of high school, Stiles was comfortable with life. He couldn't say he was happy, but he couldn't say he was terribly sad either. He had Scott who had been his friend for forever and was still totally awesome. He had his dad who loved him more than anything. He was okay with things the way they were.

Most people school thought that having ADHD made Stiles rather clueless; they thought of him as that annoying kid who didn't know when to shut up, but it was quite the opposite. Sure, he talked a lot when all the attention was on him, but he'd never really had any friends other than Scott, so he spent most of his time observing the people around him.

He wasn't really sure what it was, but there was something about this one guy, Isaac, that had always draw Stiles' attention. Maybe it was the way he walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders drawn up as if he was trying to disappear into himself. Maybe it was the way his voice floated through the air like a soft melody, sad yet unwavering, whenever a teacher called on him during class. Or maybe it was the way he would only give people fleeting glances when they talked to him choosing instead to cast furtive glances left and right as if he were looking for an escape.

Whatever it was, he didn't really think it mattered because Isaac would never talk to him. Isaac never talked to anyone really which Stiles found kind of sad because he thought everyone should have someone they could talk to, but he understood. He knew Isaac's mother and brother had both died not even a year ago. After his own mom died, Stiles thought he might never talk again, but he had had Scott who had managed to get him through it. Stiles wondered if Isaac had anyone to do that for him. He hoped he did.

All of Isaac's avoidant behavior is what made it so surprising for Stiles to find him still in the locker room one day after lacrosse. Stiles was usually one of the last people out of the locker room after practice because by that point he was usually doing everything in his power to put off going home to start his homework. Isaac always managed to be one of the first people to make it down there and get changed and leave. Stiles had always figured Isaac had somewhere to be.

But that day, they had somehow ended up being the last ones to leave. Stiles had stared awkwardly over at Isaac wondering if he should say something. He could say he was sorry about Isaac's mom and brother, but he hated when people said that to him. He thought he should say something though. For all he knew, Isaac didn't even have any friends to offer their condolences.

"Hey, so are you walking home?" Stiles asked just when Isaac threw his backpack over his shoulder and moved to leave.

Isaac merely stared at him with raised eyebrows.

"Well, I'm walking, so I just thought maybe we could walk together. That is, if you live anywhere near where I do, I guess. Where do you live?" Stiles rambled wanting to punch himself for being so awkward. _Idiot,_ he thought. _I was just trying to be nice, and now he probably thinks I'm a stalker. _

"Just past Ridgeway," Isaac mumbled, shuffling his feet.

"Oh, me too," Stiles replied.

Isaac shrugged, but sat back down on the bench to wait for Stiles to finish getting ready to go. After that day, they started walking home together every day. They didn't talk much, or Isaac didn't talk much at least. But Stiles listened when he did, and the rest of the time he filled the silence with whatever came to mind. He even got Isaac to smile a couple times which he counted as a win because he hardly ever smiled. He'd also learned a thing or two about Isaac like how he really didn't have any friends, and yet he was one of the most compassionate people Stiles had ever met. He volunteered at the hospital on weekends even though his dad told him it was a waste of time. He liked to write although he swore he wasn't very good, and he didn't have a clue what he wanted to do when he was older. There was one day, however, that Stiles learned more than he was sure he wanted to.

"I'm sorry about your mom and your brother, man," Stiles blurted out midway through his usual pointless ramblings about this or that.

He wanted to smack himself for bringing it up, but he had been thinking about it for a long time, and it just slipped out. Maybe it was because Isaac never mentioned his family, not even his father even though it was just the two of them. Stiles and his dad were the only two left after his mom died, and Stiles talked about him constantly. He even brought up his mom on several occasions, so maybe he was a little curious as to why Isaac didn't.

"Yeah," Isaac replied with a noncommittal shrug.

"My mom died too," Stiles said in a vain attempt to relieve the awkward atmosphere.

"Yeah," Isaac repeated.

Stiles figured he had probably crossed some invisible line and should leave it alone, but then Isaac started talking.

"They were murdered, you know," Isaac spoke almost casually as if he were discussing the weather. "Still don't know who did it."

"You don't have to tell me," Stiles finally said once he managed to stop gaping.

He had always assumed they'd died in some sort of car accident or something. That's what everyone at school always said, but murdered? No wonder he never talked about it.

"Dad says it's my fault," Isaac continued as if Stiles hadn't spoken. "He won't even look at me anymore…well, unless he's drinking, but…I suppose he's right though. They were looking for me. I snuck out to the city, and they came to find me. When I got home, my dad tried to call them, but we found out later that they were already dead. Police said it was probably a mugging gone wrong. They didn't look very hard for a suspect, but as far as anyone's concerned, it was really all my fault anyway, so…"

Stiles just stared. He hadn't ever heard Isaac string that many words together at one time, and all of them condemned him as a murderer though his only crime was being a teenager. Stiles wondered if that's why his eyes shone with a constant fear, and he never looked at anyone's face instead ducking behind his bangs. Was he afraid that if anyone looked too hard at him that they might see him the way he saw himself? Was he afraid that punishment beyond losing two family members and having the blame of a third was just around the corner? Stiles didn't know.

"It wasn't your fault," Stiles started quickly when he realized he'd been silent for far too long.

"Um, yeah," Isaac mumbled shooting him a panicked sidelong glance as if he just realized that Stiles was there. "Look I gotta go."

With that, Isaac turned and headed through what must have been some sort of shortcut through a neighborhood Stiles had never been in. Stiles tried to call after him, but Isaac didn't even spare a glance back as he disappeared around a corner. Stiles didn't move for a long time after that. He just stood staring at the spot where Isaac had moved out of sight wondering what it felt like to carry that much guilt around.

They didn't talk after that day, not that Stiles didn't try. Isaac simply didn't give him the opportunity. Every time Stiles spotted him in the hallway, he would melt into the crowd or disappear around a corner before Stiles could reach him. And he stopped showing up to lacrosse. Stiles asked the coach about him one day, but the only answer he got was that Isaac had decided he didn't want to be on the team anymore and not to worry about it. So eventually, he stopped trying. He stopped looking for Isaac in the hallways or in the parking lot, and when they did happen to cross paths, they both pretended not to see one another. They became strangers again.

_Present_

Stiles had a panic attack for the first time since the year after his mom died that night. His hands shook and his breath came in short, desperate gasps, and his heart pounded so hard he was afraid it would break right out of his chest. The panic tightened its grip, and he felt as though his bones might jump out of his skin if he didn't move, so he got up. He didn't bother to be quiet as he got dressed, grabbed his sneakers, and headed to the front door. His dad was working the night shift at the police station again, so he was alone in the house.

Once he got outside, he stuffed his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and started walking. The wind whispered through the trees and sent a chill down his spine. It was nearing winter and was really much too cold to be walking around in the middle of the night with just a thin sweatshirt, but Stiles didn't want to turn around. Soon he realized he was walking to school using the same route he and Isaac had used to walk home. He wondered if this was how Isaac had felt, this guilt that crushed him beneath its weight making it hard to breathe.

He made it all the way to the trees that bordered the back of the school before the tears came. He threw a punch at the nearest tree trunk and then another, ignoring the blood that began dripping down his hand from the broken skin of his knuckles and the pain that began radiating from his wrist. He didn't want to cry; he was angry. None of it was fair. How was he supposed to know what to do? His mother always knew what to say. She would've known what he could've said to Isaac his sophomore year, would know what to say right now, but she was gone. And Isaac. He read to kids in the children's ward at the hospital every Saturday. Who was going to do that now? He didn't know, but it started to rain, so he finally turned and headed home.

His father was there when Stiles got back. He yelled for a good ten minutes about Stiles going off in the middle of the night, but then proceeded to pull him into a hug so tight that his ribcage groaned in protest. And that's when Stiles realized that maybe he did have something left. He had people who loved him, and he had the choice to do what Isaac and his father had never done; he could forgive himself. He didn't have to hold onto his guilt. And yeah, things still hurt, but maybe it was worth it for the good that came out of it. Maybe the point was to make it all worth it.

"In your life you meet people. Some you never think about again. Some, you wonder what happened to them. There are some that you wonder if they ever think about you. And then there are some that you wish you never have to think about again. But you do."

— C.S. Lewis

Sorry, for writing another sad story. I feel like most of my stories end up being quite sad, but I guess I just have more to say about tragedy than happy endings. I have another story in mind that's kind of similar to this, but it has a happy ending, and it would be a more defined Stiles/Isaac storyline. I'm not sure yet whether I'm going to write that or not.


End file.
